make travis upset!

He froze. It was like a switch being flipped, right smack-dab in the middle of his brain. Fists clenched, and fingernails drew blood. A very poor choice of button had just been pressed. And Travis? Travis was about ready to blow. 

“’Move on’ from Quiet?” The words came out of his mouth a growl. “’Move on’ from the first woman in years to treat me like the hero I wanna be?! ‘Move on’ from one of the greatest, most beautiful people I’ve ever met?! ‘Move on’ from someone I lov-” 

A pause. Far too long a pause, before he snapped.

“SHE LEFT ME, OKAY?! And I’m not talking about her exit from the city! I’m talking about the goddamn month she took off, leaving me to just... wallow! Fuck up!” A few incoherent curses, underneath his breath. A gloved hand gripped the otaku’s hair, tugging tight. “She said she’d never leave me! She said she wouldn’t be like the rest! Look how that turned out!” 

Travis’ voice started to choke up. He had to stop, catch his breath. Sniffle a bit. 

“But goddammit...” Travis muttered, hand dropping to his side. “I can’t move on. I can’t. I see her in my dreams, think of her every other day... And the reason you don’t read about it? It’s because I’ve been trying to repress. Forget.” 

At this point, the anger had deflated from Travis’ body. He slumped to the ground, curling up pathetically into himself. 

But he was over it. Except... it seemed he had a new weakness instead. 

And Quiet was already so easy to read.

The batch of elixir she’d gotten from the scientists had that itty bitty problem ingredient in it still: formaldehyde. Whatever new batches she managed to toss together would have to forgo it, and hopefully she could figure out what caused it, but for now.. For now it suited her purposes perfectly.

The plan was simple: invite Quiet over -- apologize for how she spoke to the woman the other night. Offer her a glass of wine that had the elixir mixed in. (The bottle she had left of the Merlot already had her elixir in it. It wouldn’t do well for her for Quiet to see her mix it in.) And... If she knew Quiet well enough, Quiet would probably kill her, or at least try. Travis, who Rika would invite over an hour later, would barge in.

And see his Holly expy strangling poor, defenseless Rika -- who would never drug herself, or put herself in harm’s way intentionally.

TO: Quiet

FROM: Rika

[txt] Hello, Quiet. How are you faring?

[txt] I wanted to apologize for the other night.

[txt] It wasn’t right of me to bring up jealousy, or the way you dress.

[txt] If it’s alright, I’d like to make it up to you by having you over. I’m in District Gamma. Are you interested?

[txt] If so, would 4pm work out for you? I don’t really want anyone leaving too late in the evening even if you’re more than capable of handling yourself. And if it helps, I’m having Travis over, too. Let me know.

She switched her messages from Quiet over to Travis, and;

TO: Travis

FROM: Rika

[txt] Travis!

[txt] I was planning on having Quiet over -- to apologize. I was pretty nasty to her last night, even if she didn’t think so.

[txt] Besides! You’re so busy with your girlfriend you’ve left no time for me.  💔

[txt] I’m thinking.. 5pm? Let me know!

With that, she had everything set up. No doubt Travis would ask about the difference in time, and she would correct it after she noticed Travis was “late.” And if everything worked out as planned -- Rika would have at least one weapon. Travis or Quiet, it didn’t matter. 

Rika slipped on a simple light pink dress, 3/4th sleeves and just above knee length. If she wore white, or anything too modest, it would have been too obvious. Too plain to see to the trope-savvy assassin. So she’d play it safe, and wait.

It kept bothering her when she tried to settle in for the night. It bothered even more the next day. There was a feeling of wrongness in Priscilla, that she knew so much about someone. Even worse, knowing that she had given falsehoods and half-hoods. She probably made the poor woman feel even worse.

She waited a few days, until the sensation of wrongness got too much for her and she had to say something. The problem was that she only knew the other woman through Travis. Priscilla didn’t know much about technology, so it took her a bit of time to consider the obvious method of communication. She had always just found who she was looking for, even if it took hours. It was only after a few hours did she consider digging out the mostly unused cellphone from her closet. This thing, as far as she was concerned, made next to no sense.

Well, at the very least, it was not hard to find the woman’s contact information, since it saved the information from everyone that Priscilla had messaged, which was like three people. Well, she might as well.

                  [Message to Miss Quiet]

[ ✉ ] Good evening, miss, I apologize for contacting you out of the blue. I was just wondering, would I be able to speak with you about something? Either over this communication device or in person, either is fine. If I’m to be honest, I do have a bit of an apology to make.

She carefully cleaned up her (many) spelling errors before sending that off. It would be wrong to send out something formal with such horrible spelling and grammar. If she was going to say what she intended to, she was going to put her best foot forward.

                     [ SKETCH MEME. / not accepting. ]

To say that the Doctor was surprised would be putting it mildly. He thought he could stop being sent into Big Boss’ timeline, but no sir! The TARDIS had other plans! She had landed in the middle of a desert, an Earth desert, not an alien one, and the Doctor immediately stepped out of the box with a recurve bow slung across his back. He was ready to even fire an arrow if someone wanted to attack him but he was shocked when he saw a woman (almost naked if he might add) carrying a rather heavy sniper rifle who was walking aimlessly through the desert. The Doctor, being the kind of man he was, ran towards the woman assuming she needed help, because almost every human on Earth needed it, and held his hands up just to assure her he didn’t mean harm.

❝ It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m The Doctor, do you need help? You look pretty beaten up.❞ He was always quick to offer help, even if the other person was carrying a weapon. He took out the Sonic Screwdriver (which was capable of some medical diagnosis) and spoke again.  ❝ I just wanna make sure you’re okay. This isn’t gonna hurt, I promise you. ❞ He pointed the Sonic at her, pressed the button on the slider and the usual whirring noise came out. The Doctor’s eyes widened slightly when the readings made it clear that there was something wrong with her though he didn’t know what... YET

“Well, now there’s something you don’t see every day.”

       It was difficult to discern exactly what the woman in front of him was doing. With the skies clear and sun free to shine down on Sector 006, she seemed to be bathing in the sunlight. Perhaps not the most bizarre sight, if one were on the beach or in a locale where it’d be expected, but this was... not exactly one of those places.

       If he had one on-hand, he might’ve considered giving her an award for immodesty. Terumi may have made some insightful commentary on the matter, were he still swimming around his brain, but that wasn’t really his thing. No, he was more genuinely curious what exactly was going on right in front of him. 

       Mask of politeness, on.

                                rp sentence starters ➳ “when did this happen?”

The archer is startled by being approached by someone so silent. It sets him on edge, especially given the environmental circumstances, and he hardly realizes that she is signing to him when she raises her hands, instead preoccupied with preparing for a fight.

When the motions click, he blinks. His exposure to sign is dated, so he vaguely understands. Hanzo does not, however, relax.

The clearing just ahead is clouded with ash and dust, the dying embers and rubble of a ruined hovel the culprits-- to see through it at its thickest requires a sharp eye. The same fog drifts over the river nearby, settling into the grass like a thin blanket. The flames have died, they’ve been dead for hours now, but the pollution in the air has hotboxed the area and retained the heat. No breeze has dared to visit and bring relief.

Something moves within the static where it starts to fade, slow and unsteady as it make its way to the woods. Upon closer study it can be identified as a person, a girl in her late teens. With efforts laborious and mere inches away from being futile she works to drag something larger than herself into the trees. Her frame and muscle testify that such a task wouldn’t normally be a problem, but the numerous wounds and blood that paint her like a canvas tell a clear story of why it is now.

When she catches sight of the stranger who’s wandered into this dream to witness the wreckage, she freezes. The feet of the corpse she’s been dragging along both drop to the ground like lead weights and so does she. She watches with one wide eye, the other torn and ruined-- she doesn’t have the strength to run.